


Hail St. Sebastian

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Spooning, Uprising Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:45:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14091354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: It takes 3,654 days for the kaiju to break Newton Geiszler.This is Day 1.





	Hail St. Sebastian

**Author's Note:**

> The title is stolen from the fabulous Mountain Goats song of the same name with very relevant lyrics.  
> The working title was "Wildcard, Bitches!" because I have no self-control.

Hermann didn’t wear old-fashioned flannel pajamas, like Newt always assumed. He didn’t know how that image got into his head, of long floppy sleeves and buttons done up to his chin. It's not like he spent a lot of time thinking about Hermann in bed, in various states of dress.

_You don’t have to lie about that anymore._

No, Hermann fell asleep in a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with the PPDC label emblazoned just below the hip. Newt lightly ran the pads of his fingers over the screen printed eagle, noticing the difference in texture. Feeling the heat of Hermann’s skin through the fabric.

It had happened quickly, but without being frenzied, without awkward confessions or great significance awarded.

Still half-drunk from the Holy Shit We Saved the World party, Newt helped Hermann walk back to his quarters, Hermann’s arm slung over his shoulder like they were a pair of soldiers, limping together from the battlefield. And then Hermann invited him in, and there’d been another drink, a few touches, and then suddenly a lot more touching.

People ran and laughed, celebrating in the halls outside, but for the first time in a long time Newt didn’t feel the prickle of anxiety at the noise, a fear of missing some great bash. No one on the entire _world_ was having as awesome a time as him.

But that had been hours ago. Hermann had showered and put on his surprisingly normal pajamas, and Newt just pulled on his boxers and nothing else, unwilling to leave the room or even the bed anytime in the near future.

The halls outside were quiet now. Hermann breathes slowly, the near-motionless of the exhausted. He fell asleep stroking Newt’s hair as they lay a few inches apart, thinking about all the time they’d wasted.

_He doesn’t love you, you know._

Newt pulls his hand back from Hermann’s leg and shook his head like he was shaking water from his ears. Nope. Shitty thoughts didn’t get to win today. Not on the day he was a superhero.

Besides, the stuff he and Herms had done in this very bed, ruining his obsessively washed sheets, was the kind of thing a person has to at least _heavily like_ someone to get into.

_Not thoughts. The truth._

Christ. He needs to sleep. Newt turns on his side, lining his spine up against Hermann’s chest, picking up Hermann’s arm to drape over himself. His stomach settles a little, feeling Hermann’s heartbeat against his back. Calm down, Geiszler. Let the adrenaline ease out of your body.

_Adrenaline keeps humans alive. Your body knows something’s not right, even if you’re too slow to pick it up._

“Breathe.”

_So slow it’s almost absurd._

This isn’t happening. He’s hallucinating from lack of sleep. The same thing happened when he was in college and stayed up for forty hours working on a project. He saw the streets of Cambridge wobble like spaghetti. He saw the same man in a yellow raincoat every ten feet in the halls of his dorm.

He didn’t feel a cold, almost reptilian hand around his neck.

“Holy fuck!”

Hermann wakes with a start behind him. “Newton?”

Newt shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. He doesn’t know why, he should open them, because there’s nothing to be scared of, it’s just Hermann, and Hermann’s freakishly neat bedroom, and he’s safe.

Something isn’t letting him.  

“Sorry, I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Hermann’s arm, his lovely, warm, _human_ arm, is still wrapped loosely around Newton’s waist. He squeezes lightly. “Did you have a nightmare?”

His voice is so gentle, still half-asleep, that something relaxes in Newt. He manages to open his eyes and twist over in bed, to lie face-to-face once more.

“Yeah.” His mouth is dry, and not just because of the truly ridiculous amount of alcohol he drank. Is all this a weird side-effect of being drunk? God, he hopes he’s still drunk.

Hermann clicks his tongue sympathetically, pulling Newt closer, presses right up against him. Hermann, it turns out, is _cuddly_. Twenty-four hours ago, that knowledge would’ve been front page news in Newt’s head for a week. Now it stood as only the second or third most urgent matter in his life.

_You think that you get to be happy after what you did? You think that anyone but a failing, rogue division of a pathetic human task force would want you?_

“Hey, wake up.” Newt slings his leg over Hermann’s, rolls his hips experimentally. Hermann scoffs.

“You’re insatiable,” he grumbles, but accepts the movement, squirming against Newt like an s-curve on a seismic map. A convergent boundary.

_Still thinking about tectonic plates, this broken, useless Earth._

Hermann’s hand slides down his back, all the way to Newt’s ass, and squeezes. Newt hums, grinds more insistently against him.

_Everybody who stands on this cracked, crumbling dirt hates you._

“Newton,” Hermann breathes, their noses bumping against each other, and it sounds like a prayer, the precursor to the devotion of the kiss. His other hand gets a grip on Newt’s hip, and Hermann heaves him sideways, onto his back. Newt whines a little, almost has a chance to be embarrassed about what a complete and utter bottom he is when–

_You’re a joke. He thinks you’re a joke._

His hands are too tight on the top of Hermann’s shoulders, right where they slope up to his neck. Hermann’s eyes widen, losing some of their sleepy, lustful glaze.

Newt almost starts crying. That must be the cold sensation welling up in his eyes.

_Tears are hot, you idiotic little man._

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and pulls his arms back, crunches them against his own chest. A spike of panic sticks him through at the sight of his tattoos. Hermann stills his hips and presses his weight down on top of him, something that many past girl- and boyfriends have found to be an excellent tool in calming Newt down.

Right. Hermann knew that. He saw that in his head. Is this happening in his head, too?

_If he could hear this, he’d leave. He’d call you a monster._

“Don’t let me let go,” he mumbles into Hermann’s shoulder.

_You have to get away from him, from all of them, before they find out what you really are._

Hermann mishears him, and presses against him more insistently. He's still half hard. “I won’t.”

“Don’t let me leave.”

“It’s alright,” Hermann says. “Everyone is safe now.”

**Author's Note:**

> The story is now available in Chinese thanks to theveryQuilian:


End file.
